


Worked You Over

by ellipsometry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fisting, Bottom Sylvain Jose Gautier, Coming Untouched, Fingerfucking, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25043653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: It all starts innocently enough – Sylvain had just complimented Dimitri’s hands.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 232





	Worked You Over

**Author's Note:**

> for the [3hkinkmeme~~ ](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=1169884)  
> find me on twitt [@ellipsotiddy](http://twitter.com/ellipsotiddy)

“You’re doing beautifully.”

Sylvain knows it must be true, because it’s the fourth or fifth time Dimitri’s told him. _You look beautiful like this; my beauty, you’re doing so well; beautiful so full of me._ Dimitri is three fingers deep in Sylvain’s ass and cooing at him like he’s the loveliest creature alive. He twists those fingers, ever-so-slowly, and growls deep in his chest, something possessive that makes Sylvain go still.

Even so. Sylvain doesn’t really feel _beautiful_. He feels halfway to mindless sex doll. And it makes his dick leak like nothing else.

“Y-Your Majesty.” His voice is already going weak, knees sliding against the sheets as he shifts, spreading them just that little bit wider, dipping his chest down, arching his back. He’s presented like a prize whore – _fuck_ he’s so hard.

“No titles in bed, dear,” Dimitri scolds, driving his point home with a quick slap to Sylvain’s ass, immediately running his palm across the pinked flesh soothingly. Sylvain cries out, resting his head against his forearms to catch his breath. 

“Oh, I’ve never had the opportunity to feel you clench down like this,” Dimitri says, smile obvious in his voice. He swats Sylvain’s ass once, twice, three times again, and drives his fingers meanly against that soft spot that has Sylvain seeing stars. “Your hole is so needy, isn't it? This is hardly enough for you.”

Sylvain wants to cry. He just might.

It all starts innocently enough – Sylvain had just complimented Dimitri’s hands. Although, as Dimitri himself would say, nothing about Sylvain is _innocent_ , and neither is the way he starts taking notice of Dimitri’s massive hands, the thick fingers, the knobbly knuckles calloused from years of wielding a lance. From the second Sylvain first convinces Dimitri to put hands on him, he’s completely sunk, drunk on the careful, sweet way Dimitri pries him open, the possessive way he grips Sylvain’s hips as he fucks him.

Dimitri treats him like something precious – and isn’t that new, unfamiliar, intoxicating. In the same way that Dimitri learns to embroider without bending sewing needles and sign documents without snapping half a dozen quills in half, he learns to work Sylvain’s body. Everything Dimitri can’t say, can’t do – he says and does with his hands. Sylvain learns to read every touch of Dimitri’s fingers like a language all their own.

_I want your hand. Inside of me._ He doesn’t really expect Dimitri to accept, not at first.

“Stay with me, Beloved,” Dimitri’s voice is hot in his ear. He leans over Sylvain, sweat sticking their bodies together, and thrusts his fingers in shallowly, focused and intense on Sylvain’s prostate, his thumb working his taint from the outside, positively purring when Sylvain keens and whimpers. It feels like they’ve been at it for hours – maybe they have been – and Dimitri takes his time exploring that tight head, pulling his fingers apart, twisting them, rolling his pointer finger up until the thick knuckle adds an extra stretch. Sylvain nods, babbling something garbled and desperate, tiny pleas dripping from his wet, open mouth.

By the time Dimitri collapses his hand into a slight cone shape so he can slip his pinky in, Sylvain is floating. His body is so hot he feels like he’s wearing a second skin of himself. Dimitri is always so profuse in his praise – ordinarily Sylvain would tease him back, defer those sweet compliments. But he’s so far gone he just takes it, lets Dimitri tell him he’s _beautiful, so beautiful; I can’t wait to be inside you, you’ll take me so well I know it; your hole is so sweet, it wants my hand inside, can’t you feel it?_

“D-Dimitri—” Sylvain doesn’t recognize his own voice, something reedy and desperate.

Dimitri’s mouth is hot as his kisses a small trail up Sylvain’s back, stopping at the spot between his shoulder blades. Sylvain must taste like salt, like sweat; but Dimitri of all people has never been turned off by messiness. His free hand holds Sylvain’s hips firm, and finally – _finally –_ he presses his hand inside, thumb joining the other fingers to carve him open. 

“Soon, soon my love.” He turns his hand once, twice, and Sylvain’s rim flutters around him, oil and spit dripping down Sylvain’s balls, cooling against his taint. Dimitri pauses with his hand half-way in, those thick knuckles sunk into the red, swollen rim. Sylvain feels like all the air’s been punched out of his lungs – he exhales, hard, preparing for Dimitri to start fucking him.

And then – nothing.

“H-Hey,” Sylvain twists his neck around so fast he gets dizzy, cants his hips back slowly, fucking himself on Dimitri’s hand. “Don’t stop— I’m good, I promise—”

“I know,” Dimitri leans back, watching his love fuck back against him, and pets his fingers against the soft, hot flesh of Sylvain’s hole, each tiny ministration earning him a tiny, punched-out moan that he’d like to bottle up and keep for later. There’s a blush spreading from the back of Sylvain’s neck all the way down his torso, splotchy and stark against the freckled skin. Dimitri watches him like a sunset, like he would anything rare and beautiful.

And, when he’s had just a bit of his fill, grips hard at Sylvain’s thigh. Sylvain goes still beneath him instantly. “Good boy.”

And _Goddess_ that goes straight to Sylvain’s dick. He whimpers, dropping his head to the bedsheets, reaching his hands back to grip his ass, pulling himself apart to show off the stretch of his rim around Dimitri’s hand, swollen and ruined. “I-I—Dima, please the rest, I want it, I want it I want it—” each plea punctuated by a tiny, unconscious thrust of his hips back at Dimitri’s hand, hole suckling at him greedily.

“I know,” Dimitri repeats, softer this time, slowly turning his hand inside Sylvain, easing inside millimeter by millimeter. “You’re so desperate for it… my love, you don’t know what that does to me.” Another millimeter sinks in, and Sylvain is panting now, chest heaving against the sweat-drenched bed sheets. “ _Goddess_ , the things I want to do to you.”

“M-Maybe later,” Sylvain pants out a laugh, half-hysterical as the widest part of Dimitri’s hand presses against his rim. Dimitri is petting his thigh, soothingly – _ah, like he’s calming a wild stallion_ , Sylvain’s brain thinks, delirious. He babbles something, some nonsense of _Goddess, Dimitri, please, fuck, fuck me, please_ , and bears down—

“Ah, see. Not so hard.”

The rest of Dimitri’s hand slides in slowly, easily after that, Sylvain’s hole closing around Dimitri’s wrist, pulling him in. Sylvain’s knees go weak, arms flopping to his sides – _it’s inside, his whole hand inside me –_ but Dimitri’s free hand props him up easily, tugging at his waist to keep him kneeling.

“Goddess,” Dimitri’s voice is finally going ragged as he spreads his fingers experimentally, turning his wrist inside Sylvain. Slowly, he presses his palm _down_ , against the plane of Sylvain’s stomach, and Sylvain can feel his guts rearranging, swears he can see the bulge of Dimitri’s hand. Just past that, Sylvain’s dick bobs pathetically, leaking precome like a faucet. “You’re gorgeous for me, my sweet whore.”

“D-Dimi— Dima, _Goddess_ ,” Sylvain keeps his head down, too weak to move, to do _anything_ but let himself be held, _filled._ He lets his head go blessedly empty, lets all the anxiety and insecurities and overthinking melt away, lets the tears clinging to his eyelashes track salt down his face. He’s wet all over – drooling, crying, sweating, dripping for Dimitri, cock leaking desperately.

Sylvain hitches himself back on Dimitri’s fist, the very top of his forearm now brushing his stretched rim – he can feel the soft fuzz of Dimitri’s arm hair tickling the sensitive skin. _Fuck_ that’s the King’s arm inside him. The same hand used to command armies, sign peace treaties, greet dignitaries – shoved wrist-deep in Sylvain’s needy hole, twisting and pressing and petting at him so gently, so carefully. The King’s personal puppet – Sylvain would laugh if he wasn’t already so close to crying.

“I—” Dimitri’s voice cracks – _he’s feeling it too, he likes this too –_ and he ball his hand up into a fist slowly, pressing in just a bit more. Sylvain whimpers and bears down back on him, small unconscious thrusts back. “Perhaps next time you can take more,” he says, innocent as anything, and Sylvain _wails_ , biting down at the bed sheets. “Ah, you like that? Good, I— I like seeing you like this.”

He drops a kiss to Sylvain’s ass, then his lower back, then one of his shivering shoulders. He drapes himself across Sylvain’s back, heavy weight caging Sylvain in. “You’re so obedient… so soft. You take me so well, my love. I’d like to see how much of me you can take.”

“F-Fuck— Dima—” Sylvain gasps, and one last twist of Dimitri’s hand has him shivering through an orgasm, one that crashes over him slowly, toes curling and back going rigid as he shakes. Come drips from his cock slow, like molasses, and Dimitri milks him through it, knuckles dragging against his prostate until Sylvain is weeping openly, letting his face fall against the dirtied sheets as he finally pushes Dimitri away.

He’s half unconscious, and just delirious enough to let Dimitri take care of him. _Shh my love I’ve got you; careful now; I’m almost out._ It’s so _empty_ when he finally pulls out completely, and Sylvain shivers as the cold air hits the gape of his ass, the previously-tight clutch twitching desperately against nothing.

“You’re—” Dimitri swallows. “You’re so open now… so red.” He pets softly at Sylvain’s rim, oil leaking out and slicking his inner thighs. He looks so ruined, so used, so _owned_. And if he wasn’t sure it would hurt Sylvain, Dimitri would fuck him, would come inside that greedy, open hole – finger his come back inside and then fill him with his fist again, fuck his spend into Sylvain’s guts with his whole arm if he could.

_Another time_ , Dimitri thinks, stroking Sylvain’s back. His lover is surely worn out, in need of a long bath and a good night’s rest—

“Hey, Your Majesty,” Sylvain turns his head, turning those tear-stained eyes on Dimitri. “Are you gonna… I mean—” he half-smiles, and even like this, fucked-out and drunk on Dimitris fist in his ass, Sylvain can still turn on the charm, insatiable as always. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

(Maybe, Dimitri thinks as he eagerly slicks up his cock, Sylvain isn’t the only insatiable one.)


End file.
